


dare to be stupid

by 2davidbeckham3



Series: Hang Up [2]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, M/M, Not Cesc Fabregas Friendly, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, previous relationships mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:56:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28826328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: could you flirt with fabregas on a different post[✓ sent]
Relationships: David Beckham/Iker Casillas
Series: Hang Up [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2197359
Kudos: 5





	dare to be stupid

**Author's Note:**

> Cleaning up my Drive and found this! Filled with one too many FRIENDS references, lmao. Also, I guess infidelity undertones? Idk what this is, really. 
> 
> Title from this [[X](http://www.asofterworld.com/index.php?id=1209)], which I remixed years ago to this [[X](https://kaligaga.tumblr.com/post/167534863639/dare-to-be-stupid)]. There’s so many fic ideas i got from their whole insta interactions, but, just have this one for now. does anyone still go here

_stop flirtin-_

_Are you seriously fl-_

_please sto-_

_could you flirt with fabregas on a different post_ **_[✓ sent]_ **

  
  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


_Jealous guapo?_ **_[✓ read]_ **

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Iker’s message is an eerie echo of Gary’s insults, though that’s always been Iker’s specialty — stinging remarks, single-needle stabs, jabbing at pressure points to make them hurt the most. (It’s not like Gary’s layed attacks, insults that sting like the needles in a tattoo gun that stab multiple places at once.) Iker’s not like Gary. David’s not pretending to have forgotten their history. 

( _You’re over me? Whe- when were you under me?_ ) 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


_i was being selfish_ **_[sent ✓]_ **

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


Iker would hate that. The assertion of ownership. The audacity, after all of this time. It’s been over a decade, though David doesn’t like to dwell too much on that fact. The gray hairs he sees in the mirror are effective reminders, all on their own. He can already hear the genuine, _fuck you_ and ensuing cold shoulder treatment from Iker. Not like the silence would be much different than how they are now. _“You have no right.”_ Iker’d say. _“I know,"_ David would reply. _“I did it anyway.”_ Predictable. Cyclical. Until the next photo, next comment, next drunken confession. 

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


_Aren’t you always?_ **_[✓ read]_ **

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


_no-_

_never-_

_Not when it counts._ **_[✓ sent]_ **

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


_UNKNOWN NUMBER_ **_[✆ call incoming]_ **

  
  
  


\---

  
  
  


David stays silent, bracing himself for the other person to tell him there's something wrong with his PC. He owns a MacBook, but he’s in the mood to waste a scammer’s time today. 

_"You know, if you wanted_ **_me_ ** _for your birthday, all you had to do was ask."_

It’s not flirting. It’s never just been flirting with them. "Iker?” David winces at the surprise in his voice. “What phone number is this?" He’s meticulous about keeping his contact’s updated. It’s good for networking. It’s practical. It’s—

_"Would you believe me if I said my phone died and I'm using Cesc's?"_

“If true, I’d say you’re an asshole.” David sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Wait. I didn’t—”

_“But you love me,”_ The tinny sound of Iker’s laughter does nothing to hide its bitter edge. _“It’s a beautiful day in Monaco, by the way. I’m having lunch at this wonderful, little seaside restaurant with multiple Michelin stars. I ordered lobster. Cesc’s got the waiter asking around for a fucking USB-C chord while I’m leaning up against the railing, blinking ocean spray from my eyes as I handle my very, very urgent call.”_

“Very urgent?” David echoes. His own voice sounds far away to his ears. All he can hear the sound of seagulls squawking and waves crashing through the phone. He can’t breathe. He’s drowning. “I didn’t ask you to do any of that.” The bright colored houses of the French riviera burn his retinas.

_“You’re welcome.”_ David can practically hear the eye roll that accompanies Iker’s response. _“I thought you’d be happier to hear that you’re not second best.”_

It's a sucker-punch of honesty. “And Cesc is?” 

_“Since when do you care?”_ Iker scoffs, incredulity ringing clear across the line. 

“I don’t.” David replies without thinking. He pauses, searching for remorse. Guilt laps at his neck when he doesn’t find any. “I really don’t.” He’s not sorry at all, he feels guilty about _that_. 

_“Asshole.”_ It’s an endearment. The harsh way Iker pronounces his _h_ warms David down to his toes. 

“But you love me.”

Iker hums in response, a bright, content sound. _“Not when it counts, that’s what you said, right?”_ The needle presses against David’s ribs. _“It counts, guapo. It always fucking counts.”_

( _With you and me, it’s never off the table._ )

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> High-key inspired by Cesc commenting on the Iker's birthday posts for David. It was A Lot™ Also, guapo means handsome in Spanish and I'm 70% sure Iker's commented on David's post before, though, it might have been the other way around. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
